


a beautiful and terrible thing

by killerqueenwrites



Series: it is our choices that show what we truly are [2]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Angst with a Happy Ending, Attempted Kidnapping, Christmas Fluff, Fluff, Gen, Hufflepuff Peter Parker, Magic, Misunderstandings, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Tony Stark Has A Heart, like a very poor attempt, peter has too many parental figures for me to put in the tags, some slight Peril
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:13:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,698
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28316562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/killerqueenwrites/pseuds/killerqueenwrites
Summary: Peter sighs. “I don’t know if I want to go home.”“Why not?”“Why not?” Peter repeats, incredulous, and gestures to the castle behind them, the grounds, the Christmas tree in the courtyard adorned with magically levitating candles. “I didn’t know any of this existed four months ago. I didn’t know you existed! After I got my letter, they barely spoke to me – none of us knew what to say. What if – they lied? Or–““Ah,” Mr Stark says quietly. “That’s – yeah.”Presents, family misunderstandings, magic and a near-kidnapping: just your normal Christmas!
Relationships: Ben Parker & Peter Parker, May Parker (Spider-Man) & Peter Parker, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Series: it is our choices that show what we truly are [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2073807
Comments: 18
Kudos: 97
Collections: Irondad and Spiderson Secret Santa 2020





	a beautiful and terrible thing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [coconutknightshade](https://archiveofourown.org/users/coconutknightshade/gifts).



> this is for the wonderful [coconutknightshade](https://archiveofourown.org/users/coconutknightshade/pseuds/coconutknightshade) for the irondad secret santa. i hope you enjoy!
> 
> big thanks to [impravidus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/impravidus/pseuds/impravidus) for arranging and coordinating this whole thing.
> 
> this is part of a series so it might be helpful to read the first part. nowhere does christmas like hogwarts does christmas

_“The truth.” Dumbledore sighed. “It is a beautiful and terrible thing, and should therefore be treated with great caution.”_

* * *

“Ooh!” Peter jumps violently at Mr Stark’s voice. “Chilly out here.”

“Oh, my God–“

“Just me, I’m afraid.”

“Are you trying to scare me off the bloody tower? What the _hell–_ “

“I do apologise for my concern,” Mr Stark says, “but your friend Nedward said he hadn’t seen you for some time, and if you recall what happened the last time you were out of anyone’s sight…”

“No, why? What happened?”

Mr Stark flicks his ear and leans on the ramparts beside him, watching the snow fall over the hills around the lake. “It was my understanding that the free afternoon was for students to pack their things and tidy their rooms, not sneak up the Astronomy Tower and take in the scenery. Although,” he adds, “it is quite a sight when it snows.”

“I’ve lived in a city my whole life,” Peter says. “Snow always turns brown and grey in, like, an hour.” 

“Never let it be said the founders didn’t know how to pick a view.” Mr Stark looks sideways at him. “What are you avoiding?”

“Avoiding? Nothing–“

“I see you got Richard’s inability to lie.”

Peter huffs. “I don’t know if I want to go home.”

“Why not?”

“Why not?” Peter repeats, incredulous, and gestures to the castle behind them, the grounds, the Christmas tree in the courtyard adorned with magically levitating candles. “I didn’t know any of this existed four months ago. I didn’t know _you_ existed! After I got my letter, they barely spoke to me – none of us knew what to say. What if – they lied? Or–“

“Ah,” Mr Stark says quietly. “That’s – yeah.”

“Yeah,” Peter mutters.

“If I had to choose between two people who love you and raised you your whole life, and Headmaster Tosser, I think we both know who’s more likely to lie.”

“You’re just still annoyed at him.”

“Oh, really? You mean he told me you were dead for ten years of your life? Or the fact he had one of Osborn’s men working under him for years and couldn’t sniff him out? Wonder why I’m still ticked off.”

Peter sighs. “Just because he lied doesn’t mean they didn’t. Like – you said once Ben might have known about magic and thought it was dangerous, and – and tried to keep me from it.”

“I didn’t mean to put thoughts in your head.”

“Excuse me, I have original thoughts.” Peter shivers involuntarily. How long has he been out here? 

“Here.” Mr Stark unhooks his outer robe and drapes it around Peter’s shoulders.

“Thanks. But it’s not just that, it’s…what if someone comes for me again? What if May and Ben get caught up in that?”

Mr Stark presses his lips together and hums. “If you really don’t want to go home, you could stay at Hogwarts. But there won’t be many students who do.”

“What are you doing for Christmas?”

“Ah, very subtle, kiddo. Yes, I’ll be here.”

“But I don’t want them to be hurt, either.” Peter groans. “I don’t know what I want. Everything’s – messed up. Topsy-turvy.”

“I know,” Mr Stark says quietly. “I wish it wasn’t like this, kid. Whatever you want to do – that’s okay. I’m sure if you explain your thinking, especially after what happened…” He trails off. Peter tries his best to look innocent. “You told them, didn’t you?”

“I…”

“Oh, for the love of _Morgana_ , Pete.”

“What was I supposed to say?” Peter protests. “‘Hi, May and Ben. How was your Hallowe’en? Mine was good, except for one of the nicest teachers going batshit crazy and attempting to kidnap me for the guy who killed my parents. Reasons: unknown. As a result, I spent twelve hours unconscious in some kind of medieval infirmary. Lots of love, Peter.’ Come on! I thought the school would let them know. Isn’t that, like, the law? Don’t you have wizard safeguarding?”

“No, but apparently we should.” Mr Stark shakes his head, but there’s a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Look, if you want to know what they knew, what they didn’t – all you have to do is ask. Unless you think they’d lie.”

“I don’t know,” Peter says. “I don’t know.”

“It’s up to you, kid. Hogwarts is the safest place in the world, but home is home.”

“Yeah.” Peter thinks about Ben and May, and as uncomfortable as he might be, as angry, more than anything, he misses them. “Um, I’ll go home. Season of goodwill.”

“Sorted. Which means I have to give you your present before you go, and you better get down there and pack.”

“A present? Mr Stark, I didn’t get you anything–“

“Ah-ah. I’m the godparent. Let me spoil you. I have ten years of birthdays and Christmases to catch up on.”

“Is that what godparents do? Why does the wizarding world even have godparents? Is there a religion? A god?”

“Okay, you’re thinking too hard about this. Back downstairs with you.”

“Yes, sir!”

“Brat,” Mr Stark mutters, but he puts his arm around Peter’s shoulders as they descend the tower, so he can’t be too mad.

* * *

Peter had thought the Hallowe’en and welcome feasts were grand, but they had nothing on the Christmas dinner on the last night of term.

Hugs pine trees, easily twelve feet tall, line the edges of the Great Hall, their thick branches laden with house-coloured decorations: yellow and black, blue and silver, red and gold, silver and green. The usual candles have been switched out for stars, hovering above their heads and illuminating the entire hall. Thick garlands of holly, crisp green leaves, deep red berries, twist and wind around every wall, up every staircase. There are crackers at every seat.

And the _food…_

“How do they make Yorkshire puddings this good?” Ned moans.

“Witchcraft,” Peter deadpans.

* * *

“That was so good,” Ned says as they file slowly back up the stairs to the Hufflepuff common room, “and I’m so full. The minute I get into bed, I’m going to pass out and probably miss the train and then I’ll get a Howler from my mum.”

“At least my aunt and uncle don’t know what a Howler is.” Peter turns onto the landing and spots something bright red, out of place in the dimly-lit halls. “Oh, Dummy, hey.”

The phoenix ruffles his wings and cocks his head, feathers glinting in the candlelight.

“Is that Mr Stark’s phoenix?” Ned whispers. 

“Yeah. I think he wants me to follow him. I’ll see you in the dorm, okay?”

“See you later, dude.”

“Come on, Dummy,” Peter says, and holds his arm out. The bird hops off the banister, onto his forearm, and Peter starts down the corridor. 

He knows the way to Mr Stark’s office by heart now, even with the changing staircases and portraits that like to move into other frames. It’s more familiar to him than almost any other route in the castle. Other students glance sideways at the sight of a first-year with a vibrant phoenix sitting on his arm, but most of them are used to it now.

Dummy caws when Peter reaches the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom and pushes the door open. Mr Stark appears from his office, blue and silver tinsel wrapped around his neck.

“Isn’t that itchy?”

“Immensely. But I must represent my house. Now.” Mr Stark claps his hands. “Presents for my favourite young adult. Not, of course, that teachers should have favourites.”

“I think that ship has sailed.” Peter lets Dummy hop off his arm and onto his perch. “Mr Stark, really, I didn’t get you anything, so–”

“Ah-ah. Godfather.” Mr Stark leans down and opens a desk drawer, pulling out two carefully-wrapped parcels. “Pep helped, if you couldn’t tell.”

“Tell Professor Potts thank you.” Peter takes the first present, flat and square, and unwraps it.

It’s an embossed, leather-bound book with thick pages. Peter opens the first one carefully, not wanting to damage the paper or the binding, and stops when movement catches his eye; it’s a photograph of a Ravenclaw Quidditch team with a few others, all of them waving and smiling at the camera. 

“That’s me,” Mr Stark says. “Never played myself. There's your mum, annoyingly good at everything – and that’s your dad.”

“Oh,” Peter breathes, and looks closer. He’s seen photos before, of course, but never with so much life in them. Richard and Mary Parker grin up at him before laughing at a joke someone murmurs in their ears.

He turns the page, watches his father dance with his mother, brown curls dancing down her back. 

“The Yule Ball. Used to be a thing when the Triwizard Tournament was being held. Too many fatalities for the Ministry to let it continue.”

Peter’s head shoots up in alarm.

“Hence why they stopped it.”

“You guys _really_ need wizard safeguarding,” Peter mutters, turning back to the album. More photos follow: his parents sitting by the lake; his dad, Mr Stark and Rhodey drinking Butterbeers together; his parents’ wedding; finally, a younger Mr Stark holding a baby on his lap, wincing as a little hand tugs on his beard. “Is that...me?”

“Sure is, kid.”

“Oh.” Peter grins. “I’m really sorry.”

“I guess I forgive you.”

“Thanks for this, Mr Stark. Really, this is...perfect.”

“There’s still some blank pages,” Mr Stark says, and hands him the other present. “If you want, you can carry on filling the pages. Carry on the story.”

“Is it…?” Peter peels some of the wrapping away, sees the glint of a lens. “Whoa! Mr Stark!”

“Wizard cameras are different to your Muggle ones, so – thought you should have–”

Peter throws his arms around Mr Stark’s neck. “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

“Anytime, kid.” Mr Stark hugs him back tightly. “Now, go on. Early train tomorrow. Don’t wanna miss it.” He pulls back, one hand still on Peter’s head. “And I can’t even tell you to practice your duelling, because no–”

“No underage magic during the holidays.”

“Exactly. I’ll see you soon, all right? Merry Christmas, kid.”

“Merry Christmas, Mr Stark.”

* * *

Peter sees May and Ben the moment he steps through the barrier, pulling his suitcases behind him. May waves, hesitant, and Peter forces out a grimace-smile and makes his way towards them.

_What if they knew what if they knew what if they–?_

“Hi, honey,” she says, hugging him tightly. “How are you?”

“Good. How are you?”

“We’re learning something new every day,” Ben says with an awkward laugh. “Owl post is something else, that’s for sure. But how’s school, Pete? Learn anything?”

“Yeah,” Peter says, “yeah, I learned a lot.” The following silence is excruciating.

“Well, it’s so good to have you back,” May says. “I can’t believe they don’t do half-term there. We should go out for dinner to celebrate you being home.”

“Um…” The conversation Peter wants to have isn’t one he wants to have in public.

Her smile drops. “Or…you must be tired. How about a takeaway instead? Chinese?”

“Yeah, that sounds good. Thanks.”

* * *

“So,” May says, clumsily dishing out spring rolls with a pair of chopsticks, “tell us more about what you learned at wizard school.”

“I learned loads,” Peter says. “I learned to fly a broomstick. Um, I learned about potions and stuff.” He swallows, remembering what exactly he hasn’t told them. “I learned about my parents.”

May puts down her glass, glancing sideways at Ben.

“You know people there knew them? Did you know I have a godfather?”

“A godfather?” Ben repeats. He looks aghast.

“He thought I was dead. Everyone there thought I was dead.” Peter looks up, meets their eyes. “It wasn’t even a plane crash–”

Ben drops his fork. He’s close to tears now. 

Peter, guilty but not cowed, continues, “Did you know?”

“I knew enough. Enough that I should have told you. But Rich – as soon as he left school, he closed off. Wouldn’t tell me anything. I know now that he thought it was too dangerous, and if it was too dangerous for me, what is it for you? He left a letter for me. _Keep Peter safe_ , it said. What was I supposed to do, when him keeping me safe was keeping me as far away from that world as possible? And May and I didn’t know where to start – if you’d even be a wizard, what signs to look for if you were. I wish we’d known about this godfather – must’ve known your parents well, and he could’ve helped with the magic thing.” Ben pinches the bridge of his nose. “I'm so sorry, Peter.

“It wasn’t that we wanted to lie, honey,” May says. “We just didn’t know so much of the truth ourselves.”

Peter blows out a long breath. A weight lifts from his shoulders.

“But we’re glad you had someone there to help you.” Ben manages a shaky smile. “Tell us about him.”

Peter sits up. “Uh, he’s a teacher. I have him for Defence Against the Dark Arts. And he’s Head of House – not my house, though. And he has a pet phoenix.”

“What’s his name?”

“Oh! It’s Mr Stark. Tony Stark. He’s teaching me how to duel.” Peter swallows. “Funny, really, because it came in kind of handy–”

The apartment goes dark.

“Is it a powercut?” Peter asks.

“Looks that way.” Ben gets up and goes to the window, pulls back the curtain. “Not just us – it’s gone a few streets over. Shit, where are the torches?”

Peter spares a second to remember the rules – _no magic outside Hogwarts_ – before he sighs and raises his wand. “ _Lumos_.”

“Oh.” Both May and Ben stop and stare. “That’s...useful.”

Downstairs, a door slams. Footsteps pound in the hall.

“That was the building door.” Ben strides across the room, locks the door, grabs a knife from the worktop.

“Ben!” May say sharply.

“May, come on. Hide behind the sofas.”

“What do you think is _happening_?”

The footsteps stop outside their flat. Someone tries the handle. May lets out a strangled scream and dives behind Ben’s armchair.

This is Peter’s fault. He shouldn’t have left, shouldn’t have come home, but now he’s put his family in danger. He raises his wand, stands and faces the door.

_Bang_.

“Peter!” Ben hisses. “Peter, get behind the sofa–!”

_Bang._

May cries out again as the door buckles, hinges groaning. Peter adjusts his grip on his wand – his fingers are trembling – and sets his shoulders.

The door crumples and implodes into tiny pieces, splinters flying in all directions. A figure moves in the hallway beyond.

“ _Expelliarmus_!” Peter cries, hoarse with terror, but it does the trick; a wand arcs gracelessly across the room and hits the kitchen cabinet, a dull thunk.

“Pete! Kid, it’s me! It’s me!”

“Stop!” Peter yells, not lowering his wand. “Don’t move!”

“It’s me,” the person that looks like Mr Stark repeats earnestly. 

“Prove it!”

“The last day of term, kid. We talked at the top of the Astronomy tower. It was snowing. You weren’t sure you wanted to come home for the school holidays, yeah? You’re just as bad at lying as your father.”

“Mr Stark,” Peter whimpers, and lets his wand arm drop. Mr Stark is there even before the first tears fall, pulling him into a hug.

“You’re okay, you’re okay,” he murmurs. “You brave kid.”

“Why did you blow up my door?” Peter wails, too overcome with relief to think about anything else.

“I’m sorry. When I couldn’t open it, I thought they were here already.”

“Who?” Peter says as he pulls away, wiping his eyes. “Who’s here? What?”

“Peter?” Ben says. He’s crawled out from behind the sofa, knife still in hand. “What – what’s happening? You know this man?”

“Professor Tony Stark,” Mr Stark says, offering his hand with a flourish. “I teach at Hogwarts.”

“Stark?” Ben says. “You’re the–“

“Godfather, yes. Lovely to meet you. No time to chat. We have Rhodey and Pep outside. Happy, too.”

“You guys know Mr Hogan,” Peter says. “He took me to get my things in Diagon Alley.”

“Diagonally?” May says. “What?”

“Parkers,” Mr Stark says, retrieving his wand from the kitchen. “We really don’t have a lot of time.”

“What’s happening?” Peter says. Mr Stark looks a little too frantic, too jumpy, for him to feel entirely at ease. “Mr Stark?”

“Did you ever talk to Beck? Tell him where you live?”

“No! Are they coming? Are they here?”

“Not yet, kid, but we have to move.”

“Who’s coming?” May demands, her voice climbing higher and higher. “Are they coming after Peter?”

“Walk and talk,” Mr Stark says, ushering them through the destroyed door. “Put the knife down, Mr Parker. I assume you both know what happened to Richard and Mary?”

Ben looks at the kitchen knife in his hand but doesn’t let go. “Not really–“

“Not a plane crash.”

“Well, we knew that–“

Mr Stark puts his arm around Peter’s shoulders, urging him along faster. “The same people who killed them want Peter.”

“What? Why?”

Down the stairs. “We don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

Out the building door. “Okay, here’s the plan. Pete, you’re sticking with me. May and Ben, Rhodey and Pepper will take you.”

“Take us? Take us where?” Ben says. “We’re just supposed to trust you? We’ve never met any of you before – well, except you.” He gestures to Mr Hogan, who grunts.

“My parents have a property in Norfolk,” Miss Potts says. “It’s shielded and warded. You’ll be safe there. Tony’s going to take Peter to Hogwarts, via the nearby village.”

“You want us to split up?” May says, and grabs Peter’s hand. 

“It’s the safest way,” Mr Rhodes explains. “Peter will be safest in Hogwarts, and you’ll be safest away from him.”

“We can’t just – go to Norfolk! It’s snowing. We don’t have a car. There won’t be any trains.”

Miss Potts smiles. “Our mode of travel is a little more…instant.”

“Right,” Ben mutters. “Wizards.”

“Why can’t we go straight to Hogwarts?” Peter asks.

“There’s spells to prevent it,” Mr Stark says. “No one can Apparate into, out of, or through the grounds. Once we’re inside the wards, they should keep Beck out. Fury added him to the shitlist.”

“How can you expect us to trust you?” Ben says. “We just met you, and you want to separate us?”

“I trust them, Ben,” Peter says, “and you always say I’m a really good judge of character.”

Ben doesn’t look at Peter, just sets his shoulders and squares up to Mr Stark, who doesn’t flinch. “That’s my nephew.”

“I understand.”

“It’s my job to keep him safe.”

“I lost him once,” Mr Stark says earnestly. “I will never let it happen again.”

May kisses the side of Peter’s head and let go of his hand. Mr Stark holds out his.

“I’ll see you soon, Uncle Ben,” Peter says, and his uncle nods, stepping back towards Professor Rhodes.

Peter takes Mr Stark’s arm and they twist into empty air.

* * *

They land in the middle of a cobblestoned street. As Peter tries to catch his breath, he notices the sign of a pub above him, the snow gently falling from the dark sky.

“Where…?” he gasps. “Where are we?”

“Hogsmeade,” Mr Stark says. “Once you get into third year, you can come here on the weekends. You got a sweet shop, the Three Broomsticks, a wizard supplies shop. You can go for walks around the countryside – watch out for magical creatures, though. Come on, let’s go.”

There’s another _whoosh_ , and three figures appear in the shadow of the buildings. One moves forward, his face passing under a pool of lantern light, and Peter jumps – it’s Beck.

“Shit,” Mr Stark hisses, and _twists_ again. They land in utter darkness. “ _Lumos_.”

The wandlight illuminates scraggy clumps of grass, rocks pushing through the earth. 

“Yorkshire moors,” Mr Stark says, sounding out of breath. “They must have guessed we’d head back to the school–“

_Whoosh._

“Give us the child, Stark!” The voice is deep and menacing. Peter shudders. 

“Hang on,” Mr Stark says. “Don’t let go of me.”

“Wouldn’t be ideal,” Peter agrees breathlessly. They twist through space again.

A car honks. A train rattles past underneath them. They’re on a railway bridge opposite a train station. 

“Where are we?”

“Burton-on-Trent. Start walking.”

A taxi pulls into the station across the road. When it drives off, three figures are there, striding towards them.

“Mr Stark!”

“How…?” Mr Stark seems frozen for a minute before he tightens his grip on Peter and turns.

Silence, except for the sound of waves lapping at a shore somewhere nearby.

“Rustington, South Coast. Stand still.”

Peter does as he’s told, almost holding his breath while Mr Stark passes his wand over every inch of his body. 

“Son of a _bitch_ ,” Mr Stark breathes, and then he’s jabbing his wand into the inside of Peter’s wrist, twisting, pulling, and Peter cries out as it _burns–_

Something pops out of his arm, a little ball of white light, dangling from the end of Mr Stark’s wand until he drops it in the palm of his hand.

“What – what the hell is that?”

“Tracking spell,” Mr Stark says through gritted teeth. “They’ve been tracing it – and therefore you. Beck must have put it on you in the dungeon before he escaped.”

“That was inside me!”

“I’m so stupid – should’ve realised he’d do something like this.” Mr Stark holds it up like a ping-pong ball and aims his wand. The ball bursts like a firework, trailing sparks down to the shingle below. “All right. Let’s go.”

Peter grabs his arm, just as the familiar _whoosh_ echoes down the beach, but Mr Stark is already moving, already turning, and Beck’s scream of rage fades as the world folds into a kaleidoscope.

They’re back outside the pub, snow falling gently. Peter can see the lights of the castle in the distance, familiar and welcoming.

“Let’s go,” Mr Stark says, already striding through the snow. “They’ll figure out where we’ve gone pretty quickly.”

“They were tracking me?” Peter says, half-slipping as he tries to keep up.

“Yeah. The shielding around the school must have blocked it, but as soon as you left and went home…”

“They know where I live.”

“Yeah,” Mr Stark says quietly. “I’m sorry. I’m sure Fury could pull some strings, but you’re gonna need to move.”

It’s quiet save for the fresh snow crunching under their feet.

“I hate this,” Peter says, a sudden swell of anger rising in his chest. “I hate all of it. Why me? Why my parents?”

“I don’t know.”

“What do they want?” 

“I don’t know, kid, I’m sorry.” Mr Stark puts an arm around his shoulders, but doesn’t break his almost frantic pace. In fact, he doesn’t relax until they reach the wall that marks the start of the school grounds and pass a nondescript statue who waves as they hurry by. Mr Stark waves back.

“Always be nice to Merlin,” he murmurs in Peter’s ear. “He’s been known to summon a dragon or two in his time.”

Peter hurriedly turns and waves at the statue; it sweeps into a bow before turning back to stare at the gate once again.

“Okay,” Mr Stark says, blowing out a long breath, but his frantic pace has slowed a little, “okay, let’s get up to the castle. This way.”

Peter goes where he’s directed, too exhausted to argue or ask questions.

“Careful of the hawthorns, kid. Faeries are the last thing we need right now.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Are you okay?” Mr Stark looks down at him.

“No.”

“That’s understandable.” Mr Stark takes him by the elbow, gently leading him to the side of the path. “Stay quiet now. It should be sleeping, but you never know.”

“What?” Peter whispers.

There’s a rustling sound somewhere to their right, like leaves in the wind, like branches creaking in the breeze. Mr Stark freezes, listens as the sound lifts, then pauses like an exhale, before starting up again.

He grins, raising one finger to his lips. “It’s snoring. Come on.”

“What is?” Peter hurries forward, eager to put some distance between himself and the noise.

“The Whomping Willow. It has a mind of its own.”

“A willow? Like a tree? There’s a sentient tree?”

“I don’t know how any of this surprises you anymore, kid.”

“It’s been four months!”

“I suppose that’s fair.” The path winds around the greenhouses and up towards the castle, ending in an archway illuminated by a blazing light.

“Ah.” Mr Stark hurries forward, eyes fixed on the flame as it fades. Dummy caws a greeting.

“Oh, hey,” Peter says, laughing when the phoenix lands on his shoulder and nuzzles his cheek, “hey, boy.”

“They all got there safe?” Mr Stark asks. Dummy chirps. “Good.”

Peter sighs in relief. “Yeah, that – that’s good.” Dummy’s warmth is comforting, soothing even the bone-deep cold.

“We’ll stay here tonight.” Mr Stark leads him towards the main doors. ‘I expect Beck and his friends will go to ground, especially with half the Ministry out looking for them.”

“Who were the other two?”

“I don’t know. But we’ll figure it out.”

“Okay,” Peter says. The double doors slam shut behind them.

“Welcome back, sir. Mr Parker.”

“Thank you, Jarvis. You still on high alert?”

“Of course, sir. I am glad to see young Mr Parker safe.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“Never getting used to that,” Peter says.

“What, talking walls?” Mr Stark grins. “It’s far from the strangest thing around here.”

* * *

“So this camera can take pictures that move?” Ben says. 

“Yeah. Well, I assume so. I haven’t tried it yet.”

“Take one now,” Ben says, and Peter whips his hands up, snapping him with a wide grin. “Oh, sneaky! Okay. I’ll get you back, as soon as my phone starts working again.”

“As soon as you’re out of Hogsmeade, it will work fine, Mr Parker,” Miss Potts says.

“Call me Ben, please. You’ve teleported me across the country.”

“Then call me Pepper,” she replies with a smile.

“Here, Peter.” May reaches in front of Ben and hands the photo album back. “Put it away before I pour the gravy. I want to see it again, though – especially baby you in live action.”

“Mr Stark put it together for me.” Peter turns to the man sitting on his other side with a smile. “I’m sure he has some stories about Mum and Dad.”

“You could say that,” Mr Stark says. “Not sure if all of them would be appropriate for present company.”

“Then we’ll have to get together some time,” Ben says. “In a Muggle pub. Carrying your own drinks might do you good.”

“I have no idea what you mean,” Mr Stark says airily, catching another glass of Butterbeer as it floats over from the bar.

Peter grins and takes a sip of his own drink. They’ve pulled three tables together at the Three Broomsticks, and somehow food had appeared from the castle kitchens, leftovers from the end-of-term feast. Despite the wizards guarding the pub and the village – Aurors, Mr Stark has called them – he feels warm, safe.

“And what are you smirking at?” Mr Stark says.

“Just having a good time.”

“Well, with any luck, the Ministry of Magic will have you set up in your new place by Christmas. It’ll be a bit strange, but you know, still Christmas.”

“Everything’s been a little bit strange recently,” Peter says. 

“One way of putting it, kid. But you have me, and May and Ben – all of us. We got you.”

Peter nods. “Thanks, Mr Stark.”

“Of course. Now.” Mr Stark raises his glass. “We’ve already said it and it’s not quite time yet, but Merry Christmas, Pete.”

“Merry Christmas–“

May shrieks in alarm as a red-feathered blur swoops down and snatches some vegetables off her plate. Mr Stark yells a warning, too late, and knocks over his drink as he leaps up to try and grab Dummy, already perched on a beam above their heads. Ben manages to hold in his laughter for all of two seconds.

Okay, more than a little bit strange, but still good.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm on tumblr at [akillerqueenwrites](https://akillerqueenwrites.tumblr.com), or my main blog [akillerqueenyouare](https://akillerqueenyouare.tumblr.com). come say hi, ask questions, leave prompts or just yell at me. i've also made a twitter, [@killerqueenao3](https://twitter.com/killerqueenao3) , if any of you want to talk to me there (it's mostly pictures of my dog). thank you for reading!
> 
> happy holidays and nollaig shona!


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